这是一篇英语作业文章，是年末出书的文集中的一部分
参考了 John Green 的 The Anthropocene Reviewed 的体裁，希望你喜欢

FreeCell and Spider Solitaire

When I was ten, the only computer in our home was an antique running Windows 7. I can still remember the transparent taskbar, the wallpaper — a photo of me at five years old, standing in a sea of yellow flowers at an amusement park. Most of my memories about that computer have faded by now: how I got caught watching videos when my dad snuck up behind me, how I wrote my first C++ program in Dev-C++ on that very machine. But somewhere beneath all the forgetting, there is a snapshot I will keep forever. The computer games.

At an age when it was hard for a kid to browse the internet and find flash games on those sketchy online arcades, the "Games" folder built into the operating system was what attracted me the most. There were two games I loved above all others: FreeCell and Spider Solitaire.

* * *

FreeCell is a game of complete information. The rules are simple: fifty-two cards are dealt face-up into eight columns. In the upper-left corner sit four free cells which temporary holding spaces where you can stash one card each. In the upper-right corner are four foundation piles, where you build each suit from Ace to King to win. Your job is to move cards between columns, using the free cells as breathing room, until every card finds its way home.

The key word here is face-up. Every single card is visible from the moment the game begins. There are no surprises, no hidden variables. The destiny of the game is sealed the instant the cards are dealt, and, you just have to figure it out.

I didn't like FreeCell when I was young. Not only because it was hard — with four free cells and eight columns, every step branches into a dizzying number of choices, each leading to wildly different outcomes — but because it was a finite game. Almost every deal in FreeCell is solvable. In the original Windows collection of 32,000 numbered games, only one, Game #11982, has been proven impossible to win, giving FreeCell a staggering success rate of 99.997%¹. All the answers are already there, laid out in front of you. The result depends entirely on your own ability. In other words, when you lose, you cannot blame anyone. You can only blame yourself. It is, and always has been, a skill issue.

But that is also where the satisfaction lives. Mastery. Control. The same quiet pleasure you get from solving a Sudoku puzzle or untangling a knot. It’s the certainty that the answer exists and that you found it.

* * *

Spider Solitaire is a different creature.

I first saw the game on my grandpa's computer. He loved those stimulating, simple, and endlessly replayable digital cards games. Spider Solitaire uses two full decks with 104 cards dealt into ten columns. Only the top card of each column is face-up; the rest are hidden, stacked underneath like secrets. Your goal is to build complete sequences of King-through-Ace in the same suit, which then clear off the table. When you run out of moves, you deal a new row of ten cards from the remaining stock, and the chaos reshuffles itself all over again.

The first round I ever played, I lost. I couldn't even make a move. So I passed my judgment: this game is harder than FreeCell. But the second round, it was absurdly easy, that the cards practically sorted themselves. I was confused. How could the same game feel impossible one minute and effortless the next?

Then I found the answer: the vast majority of the cards are not shown to you at the beginning. This changes everything. You make a wise choice, which is also the only choice you can make, and flip a card. Then that card ruins the whole thing. Every bit of effort, washed away by one reveal. You did nothing wrong. And sometimes, life is easy. The cards just fall where you expected, and it's fun.

My intuition turned out to be mathematically correct. At its hardest difficulty (four suits) Spider Solitaire has an estimated win rate of roughly 40%. Mathematicians have even proven that a generalized version of the game is NP-Complete, meaning there is no efficient algorithm that can determine whether a given deal is solvable². FreeCell is a puzzle with an answer. Spider Solitaire is a problem that might not have one.

* * *

When I was sixteen, I fell in love with trading. Candlestick charts, prices rising and falling, indicators, bulls and bears. Some people make fortunes they could never spend in a lifetime; others lose their children's college funds. I enjoy the late nights, when the house quiet, with a cup of tea near my hand, and staring at the bars jumping up and down while the balance in my wallet leaps with them. It is more fun than all of the games I have ever played. The bullets are real money. The rewards are real money.

I used to believe trading was a gamble, pure and simple. Then I learned I was wrong.

After studying price action, a discipline in trading that reads the raw movement of price rather than relying on indicators, I found that there is structure in the chaos. Price and its patterns are drawn by market participants: real people making real decisions, leaving footprints on the chart. I just needed to watch the candles, investigate the patterns, and then buy or sell. FreeCell, isn't it? Just sharpen your skill, and success follows.

I was wrong.

One night, I watched my father’s account get liquidated in real time. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, gone. Not slowly. Not gracefully. But in a single vertical drop, like a red waterfall pouring down the screen. The candles did not hesitate. They just fell, one after another, like dominos, just like it did not know someone's life savings were attached to them. We had done our analysis. We had read the chart. None of it mattered. The next card had flipped, and it was the wrong one.

That was the night I realized this was not FreeCell. It was Spider Solitaire. Luck, or more academically, probability, really plays an irreducible role in the market. And this makes sense. If there were no uncertainty, there would be no trading at all. If the market could be fully solved, prices would snap to their fair value in an instant, and there would be nothing left to trade. Uncertainty is not a flaw in the system. It is the system.

But what I really wanted was FreeCell. I wanted finite answers. I wanted the comfort of knowing that if I played well enough, I would win.

* * *

There is no FreeCell.

FreeCell is a game. Life is not. Life is more like Spider Solitaire: most of the cards are face-down, and you have no idea what the next one will be. Not your time on this earth, not tomorrow's weather, not even the people sitting next to you right now. Nobody lives to eighty and then dies on schedule. People die at every age, at any moment, in ways no one predicted. That is not a tragedy to be solved. It is simply the nature of the deal.

For a long time, I resented this. I wanted the market to be FreeCell. I wanted life to be FreeCell. I wanted to believe that if I studied hard enough, planned far enough ahead, and made all the right moves, the outcome would be guaranteed. But the cards do not care about your preparation. They flip when they flip.

And yet, this is the part that took me the longest to understand, that is exactly what makes the good moments feel the way they do. A game of FreeCell where every card clicks into place. A trade executed exactly as planned. A line of code that suddenly works after an hour of staring. A haiku that arrives fully formed, as if it had always existed. A cup of milk tea with the sweetness exactly right. A relationship that fits — not too tight, not too loose, just comfortable enough that you stop thinking about whether it will last.

These moments do not change the nature of the game. The cards are still mostly hidden. The market will still do whatever it wants. Tomorrow is still unwritten. But precisely because so much is uncertain, the small certainties become something worth holding. Not because they are grand, but because they are yours: brief, ordinary, and real.

You can look at the cards that are face-up: the resources, the people, the hours you have right now, and optimize them like a FreeCell player. That part is skill, and it matters. But the deeper thing, the thing I am still learning, is something else entirely: to respect what you cannot control. To enjoy the small, sure things when they come. To keep playing even when the next card might ruin everything.

That is Spider Solitaire. That is life.

Sometimes I still think about that old computer — the transparent taskbar, the yellow flowers on the wallpaper, the two little card games sitting in the Games folder, waiting to teach a ten-year-old something he would not understand for years.

I give FreeCell four stars. I give Spider Solitaire four and a half.

中文版：空当接龙与蜘蛛纸牌

空当接龙与蜘蛛纸牌

我十岁那年，家里唯一的一台电脑，是件运行着Windows 7的老古董。我至今记得那透明的任务栏，那张壁纸——五岁的我站在游乐园里一片黄色花海中的照片。关于那台电脑的大部分回忆，如今已如褪色的旧照：被父亲悄悄绕到身后撞见偷看视频时的尴尬，在那台机器上用Dev-C++写下第一行C++程序的青涩。但在所有遗忘的底层，有一帧画面被我永远封存。那些电脑游戏。

在那个年纪，一个小孩还不太会上网，更遑论在那些鱼龙混杂的在线游戏厅里寻找Flash小游戏，于是操作系统自带的"游戏"文件夹，便成了最吸引我的所在。其中有两款游戏，我钟爱尤甚：空当接龙，与蜘蛛纸牌。

* * *

空当接龙，是一场信息完全透明的博弈。规则很简单：五十二张牌面朝上，分成八列。左上角有四个"空当"，那是临时的栖身之所，每个格子只能容一张牌暂歇。右上角是四个回收位，你要按花色把牌从A一路排到K，叠齐便算赢。你的任务，就是在各列之间腾挪移转，借着那四个空当喘口气，直到每一张牌都寻得归处。

这里的关键词，是"面朝上"。从开局的第一秒起，每一张牌都无所遁形。没有意外，没有隐藏变量。牌局发下的瞬间，命运便已封缄，接下来，你只是要去解开它。

年少时，我并不喜欢空当接龙。不仅因为它难——四个空当、八列牌，每一步都分叉出令人眩晕的选择，而每条小径都通向迥异的终局——更因为它是一场"有限"的游戏。几乎每一局空当接龙都有解。在Windows原版编号的三万二千局中，只有第11982局被证明无解，这使得空当接龙的胜率达到了惊人的99.997%¹。所有答案早已在场，铺陈于你眼前。结果全凭你自身的能力。换句话说，当你输了，你怨不得任何人。你只能怨自己。这从来，也永远，是技术问题。

但满足感也正源于此。掌控。驾驭。那种解出一道数独、或是解开一团死结时，悄然涌上的静谧欢愉。那是"答案确实存在，而你找到了它"的笃定。

* * *

蜘蛛纸牌，是另一种生灵。

我第一次见到它，是在爷爷的电脑上。他钟爱那些刺激、简洁、又百玩不厌的数字纸牌。蜘蛛纸牌动用了两副完整的扑克，一百零四张牌分成十列。每列只有最上面一张是明的；其余的都藏着，像秘密一样压在底下。你的目标，是用同一花色凑成从K到A的完整序列，随后它们便会从桌面上消去。当你无牌可走，就从剩余的牌堆中发下一排十张新牌，混沌便重新洗牌，再来一次。

我玩的第一局，就输了。我甚至一步都走不了。于是我断言：这游戏比空当接龙难。但第二局，它又荒唐地简单，牌简直是自己排好的。我困惑了。同一款游戏，怎么会在一分钟内让人绝望，下一分钟又让人不费吹灰之力？

然后我找到了答案：绝大多数牌，开局时并不让你看见。这改变了一切。你做了一个明智的选择——那也是你唯一能做的选择——然后翻开一张牌。接着那张牌毁掉了全局。所有苦心经营，被一次揭示冲刷殆尽。你并没有做错什么。而有时，生活又异常轻松。牌恰好落在你期待的位置，有趣极了。

我的直觉后来在数学上得到了印证。在最高难度（四花色）下，蜘蛛纸牌的胜率估计只有40%左右。数学家甚至证明了该游戏的广义版本属于NP-完全问题，这意味着不存在高效的算法能判定某一局是否有解²。空当接龙是一道有答案的谜题。蜘蛛纸牌则是一个可能根本没有解的问题。

* * *

十六岁那年，我爱上了交易。K线图，价格的涨跌，指标，牛与熊。有人赚到了一辈子花不完的财富；有人输掉了孩子上大学的基金。我喜欢深夜，万籁俱寂，手边一杯茶，看着K线柱上下跳动，钱包里的余额也随之起伏。这比所有我玩过的游戏都有趣。子弹是真金白银。奖赏也是真金白银。

我曾以为交易就是赌博，简单明了。后来我发现自己错了。研习了价格行为学之后——这门学问直接解读价格最原始的波动，而非依赖指标——我发现混沌之中自有其结构。价格与它的形态，是由市场参与者绘制的：真实的人做着真实的决策，在图表上留下足迹。我只需观察K线，研判形态，然后买入或卖出。这不就是空当接龙吗？打磨技艺，成功自会随之而来。

我错了。

有一天晚上，我眼睁睁看着父亲的账户被实时强平。数十万美元，没了。不缓慢，不优雅。而是垂直坠落，像一道红色的瀑布倾泻在屏幕上。K线没有丝毫犹豫。它们只是不断地下跌，像多米诺骨牌，仿佛不知道那上面附着某个人的毕生积蓄。我们做了分析。我们读懂了图表。这一切都不重要了。下一张牌被翻开了，而它是错的。

就是那一夜，我意识到这不是空当接龙。这是蜘蛛纸牌。运气——或者更学术地说，概率——在市场上扮演着不可削减的角色。这很合理。如果没有不确定性，就根本不会有交易。如果市场可以被完全破解，价格会在瞬间回归公允价值，那就再无交易可言。不确定性不是系统的缺陷。它就是系统本身。

但我真正想要的，是空当接龙。我想要有限的、确定的答案。我想要那种安慰：只要玩得足够好，就一定会赢。

* * *

世上没有空当接龙。

空当接龙是游戏。人生不是。人生更像蜘蛛纸牌：绝大多数牌都扣着，你根本不知道下一张会是什么。你在世间的时日，明日的天气，甚至此刻坐在你身旁的人。没有人活到八十岁，然后按时死去。人在任何年纪、任何时刻，都可能以无人预料的方式离去。这不是一道待解的悲剧。它不过是这手牌的本质。

很长一段时间里，我对此心怀怨怼。我希望市场是空当接龙。我希望人生是空当接龙。我想相信，只要足够用功、足够深谋远虑、每一步都走对，结果就能被保证。但牌不会在乎你的准备。它们该翻时便翻。

然而，这正是我花了最长时间才领悟的部分——也正是这一点，让那些美好的时刻有了它们应有的质地。一局空当接龙，每张牌都咔哒一声归位。一笔完全按计划执行的交易。盯了一个小时后突然跑通的一行代码。一首仿佛自来便完整存在、突然降临的俳句。一杯甜度刚好的奶茶。一段恰到好处的关系——不太紧，不太松，舒服到让你不再去纠结它能否长久。

这些时刻不会改变游戏的本质。牌依然大多扣着。市场依然我行我素。明天依然是一张白纸。但正因为有那么多不确定，那些微小的确定性，才成了值得紧握的东西。不是因为它们宏大，而是因为它们属于你：短暂、平常，却真实。

你可以看着那些面朝上的牌：你所拥有的资源、身边的人、此刻的光阴，像空当接龙玩家那样去优化它们。那部分是技术，而且很重要。但更深的东西，我至今仍在学习的东西，完全是另一回事：尊重那些你无法掌控的。在它们来临时，享受那些微小而确定的事物。即使下一张牌可能毁掉一切，也要继续玩下去。

这就是蜘蛛纸牌。这就是人生。

有时我仍会想起那台旧电脑——透明的任务栏，壁纸上的黄色花海，游戏文件夹里静静躺着的两款小小的纸牌游戏，它们等着教给一个十岁男孩一些他多年后才能懂的事。

我给空当接龙四颗星。我给蜘蛛纸牌四颗半。

翻译更新于：2026年4月30日